Now That I've Seen Her
by altenprano
Summary: "That man will be the death of you, Vera." This is what Vera Bates's mother told her after she married Mr. John Bates, but her mother's words never bothered Vera until now. Speculative oneshot on Vera and John Bates's marriage and when it all went wrong.


**A/N: So this is a little drabble that came to be during one of the courses I took over the summer, where we were asked to speculate about whether or not there was a time in an antagonist's life when they weren't the antagonist, when they were happy and life was generally good. I chose Vera because I think I had a better sense of her than any other antagonists from other fandoms, and I've always been meaning to examine her relationship with John and perhaps try and see if I could answer the question of "Where did it go wrong?" **

**So this is that attempt. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey. _Also, I'm playing Devil's advocate here, and I'm probably not spot-on entirely.**

**Enjoy!**

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_"That man will only bring you sorrow."_

For twenty years, those words had hung over her head, and sometimes weighed no more than a feather, while other times it was as heavy as a valise filled with bricks. She recalled her mother saying them when she'd shared the news of her engagement to John Bates, who, in those many years ago, was a strapping, intelligent, caring young man who could outdistance most others.

He was still all of those things, that she knew, but he was no longer able to walk without a cane, not after he'd been crippled while serving in the Boer War. While he'd been away fighting, she had been nothing but proud (the worry that always accompanied having a loved one at the front came later), and it was one of the few things she had been able to take pride in, even if she wasn't the one fighting. There had been few precious moments of pride in her life until that point, two, to be exact: first, at age nine, when she'd helped her mother deliver their neighbor's baby, and second, when she'd been given the position of second housemaid at the London residence of a not-very-well-known baron. The pride in both of those moments, however, had been temporary, seeing as her mother's praise rarely lasted more than a few breaths, and considering that she'd left service as soon as she'd been courting John for six months.

She recalled how upset her mother had been when she learned of her engagement to the footman-soon-to-be-soldier, though looking back, "furious" seemed like the better word for the display that followed the announcement. Her mother'd gone after her father first, her vindictive words stinging the engaged couple as they watched the man who'd blessed their engagement be cowed by his wife, before she turned to John's fiacnée.

"A man like that will only bring you sorrow, Vera," her mother'd said, eyes narrowed in the direction of her daughter and future son-in-law. "But, if that is what you choose, then so be it."

Vera's mother had also warned her that her husband would be different when he came back from war, and Vera had chosen to ignore her. She was patient with her husband, doing everything she could to help, to make sure he didn't think she was suffering because of him (she wasn't), for she knew he had a tendency to see the difficulties of others and somehow trace their cause back to himself, and if there was anything she could do to ease his mind, she would do it. When he woke in the middle of the night, his eyes wild and heart racing after a nightmare, she would do her best to calm him until he fell asleep again, and when he requested that they sleep in separate beds, she'd obliged without a question as to why. It wasn't as if they would be having children anytime soon- they'd tried before John left for Africa, without success, and she wasn't one to push the issue upon his return- and Vera had come to accept that perhaps God's plan for her did not include motherhood.

She remembered her mother- still terrifying in old age- scolding her for being so kind to her injured husband, telling her that, if he were a true soldier, he would be back on his feet and shipping out again by now, and, if he were truly her husband, and they a true married couple, they should have children by now.

"Ten years married and not a brat to show for it. I am ashamed of you, Vera, ashamed," the old woman had said, nearly reducing Vera to tears.

But still, Vera ignored her mother.

For twenty years, she'd been faithful and caring, ignoring her mother's vicious remarks, remarks that lingered long after the woman who'd predicted sorrow for her daughter's marriage was buried in a peasant cemetery, right next to Vera's father. For ten of those twenty years, she'd been separate from her husband, so that he could take time to heal, and perhaps find work, and so she could find work herself.

Without her husband, Vera was unable to find any reasons to be kind, seeing as he had been her reason for expressing a kindness that she only knew from her father, and, rarely, her mother. She tried to fight the bitterness she felt trying to creep into her words and actions with every passing day, but she didn't know how. She wanted to be the same woman John had kissed goodbye on the train platform as he went north, towards York, and she stayed south (she never was one for extensive travel), but without him by her side to remind her of who that used to be, she found herself letting her mother's words eat at her, the seeds of doubt that had been sown with a plow of sharp words sprouting into plants that took root in her mind, hardening her heart.

She didn't want to be like her mother- she was certain no one did- but the hurt she'd felt upon glimpsing John as he'd accompanied a lovely, fair-haired, blue-eyed young woman to the fair turned to jealousy, which was all her mother's words needed to completely harden her heart. She'd been replaced by that other woman (whose name, she had yet to learn, was Anna Smith), and the only thing that was holding her husband back was a band of gold neither of them wore anymore, having agreed that they were less likely to get lost if they never left Vera's small jewelry box.

She wasn't willing to lose her husband to a woman like Anna, who, though she seemed genuine and virtuous, had to be a skilled temptress to have swayed John. Vera sometimes wondered what Anna promised John if he divorced Vera and married her.

Wealth?

Work?

Children?

Whatever it had been, it must've been something Vera failed to give him.

What had even caught his eye in the first place? Anna was gentle and kind, but Vera had been as well (_You were_, she reminded herself. _You aren't anymore_) and it certainly wasn't her diligence that had won John's heart. What did this woman have that Vera didn't?

Vera knew that she would do whatever it took to win back her husband, even if it meant breaking the law, because he was rightfully hers. She'd fought for him, she'd comforted him when he woke up in the middle of the night, and it'd been her love for him that had triumphed over her fear of her mother.

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**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this piece. It was an interesting thing to write, and I can actually see myself doing some work with Vera Bates in the future. You have been warned :) **

**As usual, reviews are welcome and encouraged. **

**Thank you!**


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